Sanding off the Edges
by boughofcherries
Summary: Quinn's in a deep funk, and needs somebody to help her out of it. Cue Rachel! With added Brittana. Rating will change as the story develops. Read and review? Please?
1. Chapter 1

**Rating: T (Will change as the story develops - bit further on down the road, though)**

**Pairing: Quinn/Rachel, Brittany/Santana**

**A/N: Oh, look, I've written more femslash... Lemme know what you think?**

**A/N 2: Terrible title for a terrible summary. Anyway. I wrote this v. quickly, as I'm trying to perfect chapter 8 of my rather intense Pezberry fic (if anybody reading this is reading that, if chapter 8 isn't up by tonight it shall be tomorrow, I swear. I just needed a break.) If anyone here isn't reading it, it's called Makin' Music. Shamless self promotion, I know. But why the hell not. Hah.**

**Enjoy**

* * *

"In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost..."

The priest sprinkled the water over the baby's porcelain forehead, welcoming it into God's family. One hundred people filled the pews facing the white marble font. It seemed a bit much for a christening, but this was a wealthy middle-class Christian neighbourhood. Everyone knew everyone from work, church, the country club, the grocery store. Columbus wasn't much different from Lima, after all.

The service had been lengthy, and with the aid of the priest's deep, thick voice, Quinn had zoned out for most of it; she recited vows when required, and smiled brightly as was expected of her. However, her thoughts were far from her nephew's much anticipated christening, and she was afraid it was starting to get obvious. Her face was stony and hollow as she flitted to auto-pilot when she wasn't responding to pointless questions, and her mother was noticing. She wasn't asking any questions, though, which Quinn was grateful of. All she had to do was keep each and every fibre of her being in its' perfect place before she clicked the lock shut on her bedroom door and was able to let her hair down.

Vivid streams of coloured light poured into St. Joseph's Church through the imposing stained glass windows depicting the Virgin Mary that stood tall and proud above the white marble font, around which the priest, clad in white silken robes embroidered with golden superfluities stood alongside proud parents, godparents and of course, the gurgling baby in his expensive outfit – that he would grow out of in about five minutes – fisting the air and kicking his feet against some invisible bogeyman.

And then, the baby was placed back into his parents' arms and Charles Michael Cavendish, Jr. was presented to the hundred-strong congregation. Everybody stood up and cheered in celebration of the special day, beaming proudly at the parents and their one-week old son.

One week old. Quinn clenched her jaw as she applauded lightly at the boy cradled in his mother's arms, doing her best to ignore the twinge of jealousy pulling in her chest. She kept her smile, her mask, intact, until everybody began filing out of the church.

It had been only two months since she had given up Beth – in fact, today marked the two-month anniversary exactly. Her sister had only been seven weeks behind Quinn in terms of her pregnancy, yet she never discovered that she was with child until she was already six months gone, so her mother had said. It must only have been two months after Quinn had been thrown out on her ear that Fran had dropped _that_ bombshell.

Unsurprisingly, Quinn heard nothing of her sister's pregnancy until she had accepted her mother's offer and moved back into her 'home' after having Beth. She cried every night for that entire week after she'd heard that Fran was seven months pregnant. At least her sister was having a boy. It would have been too much if her sister was having a baby girl, too.

However, it was as if nothing had happened. As soon as Quinn stepped over the threshold at four-four-seven Dudley Road, life was as it was. Minus Russell Fabray, that was. If there was one thing that sweetened the beginning of summer for Quinn, if even a little, was that her father had been thrown out.

She could see that her mother was slightly lost without somebody guiding her _every_ movement, as she had been for almost thirty years, but Quinn said nothing. Only time could heal a wound like that.

Of course, Judy had a grandchild to look _forward_ to, this time. It would help her get over her husband's dalliances with tattooed junkies and it would help her bond with her youngest daughter, to repair their relationship. Oh, if only she knew how wrong she was.

Beth wasn't somebody that the two blondes talked about, and Quinn couldn't just erase her sister's pregnancy liked she wished she could have with her own. Judy did have a right to be excited. And Quinn couldn't stop her. But every time the word baby was uttered over dinner, or when they were shopping, Quinn just felt like tearing the nearest person limb from limb and mopping away the mess with her river of tears.

Quinn, however, said nothing, and just played along – as much as she hated it, her mother had been gaining in confidence and she couldn't shatter that for her mother, no matter how she felt. Russell Fabray had been a dead weight on their backs for too long, and Judy needed to get used to it.

Every Tuesday night, Judy would socialise with some friends from church – where she went, Quinn never asked – and on Thursdays each of her friends from the book club she'd recently joined would take turns hosting the weekly sessions would go to a book club with aforementioned friends. Life wasn't perfect, but it was a damn shot better than Quinn had expected.

Until, that is, one morning when Quinn returned home after spending the night at the Jones household, eating pizza and bitching about various scandals posted on Jacob Ben Israel's blog with Mercedes and Kurt, she was treated to a rather unwelcome surprise.

* * *

"_Mom! I'm home!" Quinn called through the house, dumping her bag by the front door. The house was filled with the sweet aroma of Judy's famous recipe for roast ham. Quinn furrowed her brow; it was a Saturday. She didn't expect her mother to be cooking a roast lunch today. Quinn usually helped with her mother around the kitchen after they'd gotten back from church – it was somewhat a routine of theirs, nowadays – but Quinn was still stumped. _

_The only reason Quinn had come home at half past eleven in the morning was because her mother hand rung her and asked her to come home because she had some big news to tell her. Quinn hoped that her mother had gotten one of the secretarial jobs she'd applied for, now she was a single woman to an extent. No divorce had been filed by either Russell or Judy; her mother was always reluctant about filing for divorce and conversation never got further than a few utterances. Catholics didn't get divorced. Quinn never questioned her; it would take time for her to make that decision. She knew her father wouldn't file, because he probably didn't think he had done anything wrong and would try to wheedle his way back into his wife and daughter's lives in one way or another._

_But still, Quinn thought that Judy cooking up a roast ham was a tad much for just getting a job. It was an expensive meal to cook, if anything, and she certainly wouldn't have been handed a paycheque just for acing an application form and a stringent interview._

_Quinn cocked her head and edged into the living room and stopped dead still in the doorway when her eyes hit an all too familiar figure reclining in a worn leather armchair perched by the fireplace. She locked eyes with her father, who glared coldly back at his daughter with a scotch in his hand, and shut the door behind her as she stepped fully into the room._

"_What are-"_

"_Quinnie, dear!"_

"_Mom," Quinn mumbled, smiling weakly at the elder blonde woman who'd just flounced in from the kitchen clad in her apron, beaming._

"_I never heard you come in," she said. "Have you been in long? Oh, no matter," she waved off her question before Quinn had a chance to answer, "Well, here's your surprise. I took your father back. Isn't that wonderful? Now we can be a proper family again."_

_Quinn stood, her mouth hanging open as if her mother had suddenly announced they would be flying to China on a giant pig to join the circus. Her eyes flitted between her beaming mother and her father, who was now wearing a smug smirk on his face._

"_Just in time for your sister's baby," Russell added, looking pointedly at his daughter. His smirk grew as he caught the minute flash of hurt dance across her hazel eyes. "Right, Judy?"_

"_Right, darling," she answered, grinning proudly down at the man. "Can I get you a refill?"_

"_That would be wonderful, darling," he replied, getting out of chair and handing her his glass and pecking her on the cheek. Russell shut the door behind his wife before turning to Quinn and ordering her to sit._

"_No."_

"_Suit yourself," he growled. "But you'd better learn to hold your tongue while you're living here. I was disgusted with your mother when I'd heard she'd taken you back into our family that you so readily disgraced not half a year ago. But I said nothing. She realised that what I did was a mistake and found some sense. It was just last night that we decided I should move back in, actually. And you'd do your best to fall in line and remember your place in this family – the bottom."_

_Quinn clenched her jaw and glowered back at her father. She was about to let a snide remark slide off her tongue in reply to her father's absurd diatribe, but she kept it to herself. It wouldn't do anybody any good to cause an uproar now. Her mother was happier than she'd been in months, even if it was for the completely wrong reasons._

_

* * *

_

Russell clapped a strong hand to Quinn's shoulder as the congregation filed out of the church, and leaned down. "You keep on your best behaviour at your sister's house, got it?"

Quinn nodded, continuing to look forward as she, Judy and Russell headed to their sedan in the church parking lot. The ten minute drive to her sister's grossly oversized mansion, which rather reminded Quinn of her own, was silent. The tension in the car was tangible. It was like cords of rubber were floating through the air and beginning to wrap themselves around Quinn's limbs, slowly cutting off the blood supply to each one.

Quinn caught her mother's eyes in the rear view mirror – Judy looked away just as quickly as both sets of hazel locked – and Quinn felt her heart break again. Judy hadn't even tried to comfort her own daughter, knowing how hard it would be for Quinn today.

Quinn wasn't surprised that her mother was edging around her like this, as if ignoring the forlorn glint in Quinn's eyes meant it wasn't there anymore. And just like that, after a summer filled with progress, the Fabray family had gone back in time to twelve months ago, and instead of Quinn preparing herself for Junior year, she felt like Sophomore year was going to start all over again.

Inside Charles and Francesca Cavendish' large house, the hundred or so people from the church and some more that Quinn hadn't noticed perched on a pew, were milling around with glasses of champagne in their hand.

Their dazzling smiles of St. Joseph's congregation reminded Quinn of the dazzling smiles of the Holy Trinity Church's back in Lima. Her sister had fallen into the same trap her mother had nearly thirty years ago. The difference was, Charles Cavendish, Sr. was too simple a man to be any cause of harm to his wife – he had inherited everything from his chain of UPS stores to his political views from his father – and was too wrapped up in himself and his vast fortune to care about much else.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Quinn looked up from the couch and saw her sister, clutching a glass of champagne, standing above her. She sat down beside Quinn in the empty room the younger blonde had hidden herself away in, and held the glass out for Quinn.

Quinn took it, and downed the contents in one go.

"Wow. You really are Dad's kid," Fran remarked, laughing drily.

Quinn scoffed, and fiddled with the glass in her hand. The bitter taste of the alcohol lingered in her mouth, the bubbles tingling against her tongue. Quinn had broken her vow never to touch alcohol again on the second Tuesday her mother had been out. She had toyed with the idea of sneaking out to the local seven-eleven and waiting for some creepy old man to score her a bottle of Grey Goose the previous week, and her conscience had gotten the better of her. The next week, however, she was out that door like a shot and within ten minutes, she was walking home with a plastic bag in her hand, heavy with the weight of not one, but two bottles of vodka clinking against one another in the calm of the night.

"Quinn, I want you to know how sorry I am," Fran finally said. She was twiddling her honey blonde curls between her fingers, looking for any distraction she could. Offspring of the Fabray gene pool weren't blessed with the ability to apologise gracefully.

"Why? None of it matters anymore," Quinn ground out. She felt tears pricking her eyes with the finality and the truth of her words. Everything Quinn had achieved recently had been torn to shreds.

"Look at me," Fran hissed, sidling closer to Quinn on the couch and placing a solid, yet comforting hand on Quinn's shoulder. "Don't blame me for having a kid. I know-"

"You don't know how I feel," Quinn spat, brushing her sister's hand off of her shoulder. "Do you know what it's like to have your baby taken from you hours after she was born?"

"Of course I don't – Quinn, I just don't know what to say." Fran moved back to the other end of the couch and placed her hands in her lap. She trained her eyes on her shining golden wedding band, as if it would offer a solution.

"I'm sorry," Quinn mumbled, after a period of silence, strangling the two girls.

"Don't be," Fran told her, smiling weakly. "I saw how sad you looked in church, and I saw how mom and dad didn't do much. I mean, dad wouldn't, but mom... I thought more of her." Fran hung her head once more, knowing that she too could have made an effort before the service, but she couldn't just hand her son to the hundred people milling around to get a look at him and to congratulate she and her husband and go and comfort her sister. She had to be a good hostess. It was a requirement of married life and motherhood. Now Fran had a taste of it, she had fallen onto a bed of cynicism. Her life had become her mother's, without a doubt. And Charles was much too boneheaded to hold a direct conversation with, as she observed in much of her friends' husbands. They had all become a new generation of their mothers and the women before them, faking their smiles and becoming bitter old hags when they had a chance and a cup of coffee.

"Yeah," Quinn scoffed. "So did I."

"Is he okay? You know, with you," Fran muttered, "Is he any different at home?"

"Nothing's changed, Fran," Quinn growled, "She just took him back at the drop of a hat, without even asking me first. It sucks."

"That's one word for it," Fran remarked, finally drawing little more than a dry chuckle out of her sister. It was like drawing blood out of a stone. "Why don't you just move back out?"

"I can't just leave mom alone with him," Quinn sighed. She clutched the glass tighter in her hand, "I don't trust him."

* * *

The two hour ride back to Lima wasn't much different to the one there – everybody was silent, apart from the radio, from which Glenn Beck's monotonous voice was booming out. Evidence for evolution, or lack thereof, was the topic for today.

Quinn listened to Glenn, unconvinced. She was flitting back to a conversation in calculus she'd had with Artie one day, when she'd said that she didn't believe that such things were true. It had been an eye-opener to say the least. Not that Quinn just took on what Artie had drummed into her blindly, like she had when her father insisted that she believe that the world was six thousand years old and fossils were placed upon the earth to test our faith, but she had thought about it, and at his insistence, read some books and articles on the subject. After mulling it over for some time, she gave in and conceded that he might just be onto something.

It didn't shake her faith in God, like a lot of her other thoughts were causing her to do of recent, but it shook whatever faith she had in her father's raising of his two daughters. It wasn't a breaking newsflash that Quinn had begun to question whatever morals her father had and it didn't cross her mind as bizarre that the Bible wasn't as clear cut as it once was, once facts were involved. But God was something that couldn't be wrong. People were wrong all the time, sure, but God; God didn't make mistakes, of that Quinn was sure.

She thanked Artie – his educating her, if you will, gave her something to think about besides various other things clogging her mind – when she was sat alone in the library, studying for upcoming tests and making sure she had her essays in on time. At least if she had little to no friends, her grades wouldn't suffer. Staying on the honour roll was all Quinn had left, if anything, and she clung onto that like it was a raft while she was stranded in the middle of the ocean, miles and miles from shore in any direction.

Most of her free periods were when other people had classes, anyway. Kurt and Mercedes were always tied up and even Puck wasn't there. Not that she craved _his_ attention. On Thursdays, though, one other person shared a free hour with her. Rachel Berry. The girl had tried time and time again to sit with Quinn, in the hopes that she might befriend her, and Quinn let her a few times, so long as no words were exchanged between them for the duration of their time spent together.

It didn't surprise Quinn that Rachel returned week in, week out with the same unfaltering smile on her face and chipper resolve – in fact, Quinn found it rather endearing. Rachel never overstepped whatever boundaries Quinn had put in place so that her pregnancy hormones didn't overcome her and berate Rachel for little more than nothing.

It hurt Quinn a lot the last time she'd coldly declined Rachel's invitation of friendship and even if it was a poor way of making up for that, Quinn thought she'd at least let the girl sit with her. God, it was classic Quinn Fabray. As if her presence was the only thing people needed to sit in just to get themselves through the day. But for Quinn, it was the other way around. It was just Rachel's presence that lifted her spirits, if only for one hour out of Thursday's remaining – utterly depressing – twenty-three.

She helped Rachel out from time to time with her Spanish – which surprisingly, the verbose diva found inexplicably difficult – and Rachel returned the favour by reading over Quinn's English essays. Given the fact that Rachel would usually point out whatever fault she saw in anything in a flash and without restraint, Quinn thought that Rachel's lack of criticism was more of a compliment than the girl's trademark bright, toothy smile.

But that was it. The girls rarely exchanged a friendly remark, other than the customary 'thank you' after they'd helped one another out, and not a word more. Greetings and goodbyes didn't count, not really.

Quinn smiled, despite herself, as she remembered her silent hours with Rachel. Glee was something else she looked forward to, because of Rachel's exuberance, but they didn't really speak because the brunette was far more concerned with either Jesse or Finn, whom Quinn decided she loathed at that current moment.

It wasn't clear to her why she felt she should hate them both so much, but what she did know was that all they had in common was Rachel. Sure, everyone hated Jesse for the whole egging incident, but Quinn seethed with anger at the mere thought of him _touching_ her.

And Finn? Quinn didn't know where to begin with him. He was just a jerk, plain and simple. He messed Rachel around and he messed Quinn around – even if Quinn had messed him around a hell of a lot worse, he deserved the cold shoulder from her, too. Both she and Finn were cheaters. It was why they didn't work out together. It was why, until they found somebody they cared about enough not to hurt, they would never work with anyone.

But what claim did Quinn have on the brunette? None. Not even one bit. Quinn couldn't even bring herself to speak to Rachel; it was a combination of Quinn needing to have time to herself, the fact that she didn't want to let her mouth slip and insult the poor girl and Quinn had a crush on the girl so by definition, she had no idea where to begin with her words. A weak scaffold of friendship was all she'd built up with Rachel. They had no solid foundations; only Rachel's all too forgiving nature and Quinn's apparent reluctance to accept it.

"Quinn, wake up. We're home."

Russell's voice snapped Quinn out her reverie. She had shut her eyes, pretending to sleep through the journey so that her parents wouldn't bug her for anything. Not that they were talking to each other, but she wouldn't take the chance after a day like this.

It was dark by the time their sedan pulled up in the driveway. The air wasn't as warm any more, since September had imposed upon the summer and beleaguered the bright sun's rays with a chilly breeze.

A new term was to start at William McKinley High School in two days. Monday was Quinn's final day of summer, before Tuesday brought upon her the trials and tribulations of Glee Club, and just how she was going to get herself back on the Cheerios.

It wasn't that she needed to reinstate her previous reign of terror over McKinley, because Santana had that one covered, but if Quinn was back on the squad, then she'd at least have Cheerios practice to keep her out of the house as well as Glee.

She needed something to keep her as far away from Russell Fabray as she possibly could, without resorting to drinking by herself, like she had done over the summer. It wasn't fun but it blurred the jagged edges of her reality and that was all it could do.

But what Quinn needed someone to fix her reality, to sand away the jagged edges rather than just cover them up with a false sense of bravado and a bitter aftertaste.

Rachel.


	2. Chapter 2

**Rating: T**

**Pairing: Quinn/Rachel, Brittany/Santana**

**A/N: Lemme know what you think. Thanks.**

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* * *

**

The alarm buzzed at six o'clock in the morning. Not a second before and not a second after. The sun was just rising over the dirty skyline of Lima outside Quinn's bedroom window. At Mercedes' house, Quinn had the same view, though she was closer to it than she was at Dudley Road. Nothing ever changed.

Quinn had only ever seen the ocean once – seven years ago – before Fran was to graduate High School and go to Yale University. Russell had decided to make at least one week that he shared with his family special, and drove himself and his girls to South Carolina for a few days.

What was so special about South Carolina Quinn didn't know exactly, but she was nine years old back then. She just held her daddy's hand and went along with it, savouring the last few days she would have with her sister before she was to leave for New Haven.

She didn't want her sister to get married and move away like her parents expected she would and if that was true, then Fran probably would, but Quinn didn't want her sister to forget her or remember her as some pointless kid sister. So, Quinn bought her sister a locket and put a picture of the two of them in it that they'd taken in the Gibbes Museum of Art. The girls had been messing around in there, because it was so damn dull in there, and surprisingly enough, it was the best time they'd ever had together.

Quinn wished she was two or three years younger than her sister, rather than nine, because she'd be out of Lima seven years earlier. Of course, if she was seven years older, her life would be markedly different.

No Beth, or Finn, or Glee club. And that meant Rachel would not be a part of her life. As if she really was now. But Quinn could always relate her thoughts back to one diminutive brunette with a loud voice and decidedly dreadful clothes.

Yes. The skirts she wore may have rivalled those of the Cheerios' in terms of their lack of appropriate length, but for the most part, they were just awful. The sweaters were marginally better, but only because they were cute in the way that, yes, animal-related clothing was generally cute, but on a sixteen year old girl? That there was the dubious part.

Quinn always diverted her thoughts there. As soon as she got to thinking about Rachel's horrific dress sense, she always thought of what it would be like if Rachel didn't have any clothes on at all, which was a _hell of a lot_ better.

However, she mainly redirected her train of thought to if Rachel had on an off-chance bought any new clothes over the summer. Hell, maybe she'd even bought herself a pair of jeans. That would be a nice way to start the new semester; especially if she'd taken a fancy to a pair of the tight variety and teamed it with a slim-fitted (low cut) shirt. Sure, Quinn thought that maybe Rachel didn't have the most impressive rack, but they were in proportion and didn't look lopsided, or anything – not that Quinn had studied her body to _that_ much detail when Rachel was otherwise engaged with goofily smiling at Finn.

All calming thoughts, however, were pushed straight out the window when Quinn finally dragged herself downstairs after a long, long shower – after the sweater thoughts, Quinn remembered that Rachel would be doing her mandatory morning workout on her elliptical (dear God, she was losing it) – and she was once again faced with her father, who was sitting back at the head of the table in a lordly composure, looking over the financial section in the morning newspaper, just about to read the sports. She had no idea why he read the sports page, apart from because he'd bought it and it might have been a waste of the small amount of money snatched from the Fabrays' vast wealth. Of course not. But Russell wasn't a sports man. Quinn knew more about football than her father did, for sure.

Quinn said nothing to him as she headed to the kitchen to fix herself a light breakfast. Judy was frying off two eggs and a couple of rashers of bacon in there already, sipping her coffee and listening to the local radio show. That was about the only thing that hadn't changed since Russell had moved back in.

"Good morning, dear," Judy smiled at her daughter. "Can I make you anything?"

"No, thanks," Quinn replied quickly, knowing her mother would more than likely leave her alone to dote on her husband. Oatmeal was all Quinn found in the cupboard. God, today was going so well before she came into contact with other beings in the real world. Quinn stared longingly at the bacon sizzling away in the pan, but kept her eyes trained on her oatmeal as she took a seat at the breakfast bar.

She hadn't worked off all her baby fat over the summer for it to be dashed by eating a few rashers of fried freakin' bacon. Vodka didn't count in Quinn's mind, because it had so little calories anyway. She chose to ignore the fact that it rotted her liver, though. She reckoned she drank less than certain Cheerios anyway. What difference did that make?

Judy left the kitchen soon after, to take Russell his breakfast, leaving Quinn alone with her thoughts. She smoothed over her white dress and fixed her headband – it wasn't out of place, Quinn just needed to find something to do after she'd wolfed down a pitiful bowl of oatmeal – and went upstairs to make sure she had all of her books ready for the day. Of course she did. Everything had been arranged last night, because she had nothing better to do. Her father had imposed a strict curfew upon his daughter for school nights; Sunday to Thursday she was to be in the house no later than nine PM and on Fridays and Saturdays, that was lifted to half past ten. As per usual, Quinn nodded along with his demands, back talking him and assuring herself that she would return home fashionably late whenever she could. It felt childish, but she was being treated as a child.

Quinn counted over everything three times and rearranged her pencil case twice. The clock read that it was now seven-twenty, but Quinn didn't want to leave now and sit in the school parking lot for half an hour before the first bell of the year rang.

She got over finding that to be a bad idea in about five minutes and left the house with nothing more than a kiss on her mother's cheek and muttered 'goodbye' to her father, to which he didn't respond.

* * *

The air was cold this morning; a north-westerly wind was blowing down from Canada, twisting in Quinn's hair and lightly grazing her skin with its chilly touch. Regretfully enough, Quinn had only worn a thin cardigan out with her dress, assuming that the day would be as warm as the last few had been, but she was wrong. She wasn't about to go back inside to fetch another layer, though; then there would be questions, and questions had to be answered.

She was at William McKinley High School by seven thirty-eight – Quinn took the extra long way there – before getting indescribably bored with crawling around town looking like she was some kind of stalker, and pulling into a spot close to the entrance of the school, but not so close that if a fight broke out before class that it would get damaged if some meatheads pushed other meatheads into it.

Sue Sylvester's car was already parked in its' place along with a few others dotted around the place. From the car park, she had a good view of the football field, and subsequently, the Cheerios' morning practice in the brisk air. She spied Santana atop the pyramid, standing proudly as Quinn once did. It was a perfect replica of day one of Sophomore year last year, except now, Santana was in her place and she'd bet her life that the Latina would go out of her way to make sure Quinn knew it.

She and Santana hadn't spoken much over the summer, but they'd hung out a few times due to Brittany's mysterious absence. She had no idea where the taller blonde had gone, but she reckoned that she'd gone away or something and just forgotten to tell them. Brittany did that sort of thing, unintentionally of course.

At least Santana had Puck to string along, so she wasn't _that _lonely. She did miss Brittany, though, even if she told Quinn otherwise. Her smile never quite reached her eyes.

* * *

"No, no way. Get out of my gymnasium."

Quinn's tryout to return to the Cheerios went awfully wrong. She was back in perfect shape and was ready to start afresh after the nightmare that was last year – surely, a fine asset in Sue's arsenal for when Nationals was coming around.

She even had to stoop as low to pull out the abstinence education card, which _still_ failed. It was a lie and it was a dirty trick, seeing as nine words had stuck in her head since the beginning of last year – 'Girls want sex just as much as guys do'.

And it was true. It was _so_ true. That was all Puck was to her; a fling. He took advantage of her body; Quinn shouldn't even have accosted him anyway, but he had alcohol and she would need a little Dutch courage to go through with it.

Puck was the polar opposite of Finn, as far as skills in the bedroom were concerned. She needed that, to assure herself that the fact she was dating a boy that she stopped make out sessions with to pray wasn't because she was with him because she wanted to be and didn't have to be for the sake of her image.

Everything was about image with the Fabrays, though. _Everything_. If you weren't belittling somebody else because they weren't wearing this or doing that in that household, you'd have to wonder if you were adopted. It was almost a trait that had wheedled its way into the gene pool somehow.

Her mother was raised the same way. With both sets of grandparents, Quinn noted that not a single thing was out of place in the lives or in their house and these habits had been well drummed into Judy's head. With Russell, he tended not to care so much. His wife always picked everything up after him; socks, dirty dishes, and his drunken rants on why the world was going down the shitter because nobody had proper values anymore.

He was a liar. Evidently, Quinn had picked up that trait from her father very well.

* * *

"So, you want back on the squad?"

"Yes." Quinn answered begrudgingly, appalled with herself that she had stooped even lower than the abstinence education crap; asking Santana Lopez for a place back on the squad. She would never be able to live this down.

"On your knees, Fabray."

"Excuse me?"

"If I'm begging Sylvester to get you a place on the squad, you're going to have to _grovel_ to me. So do as I say," she ordered, with a vicious smirk, "You'll have to get used to it, seeing as I'm Coach's number one now, anyway."

"You know what, this isn't worth it." Quinn threw her arms up and turned to leave the locker rooms. She didn't think she would give up so easily, but she felt a compulsive need to defy everything Santana told her. She realised that Santana had probably felt this way for years under Quinn's iron rule of McKinley, but hell if that didn't make it feel awful when she would realise she needed to go crawling back. Santana needed to get this out of her system so Quinn wouldn't have to spend an extra six hours at home.

"I guess moping around at home while mommy and daddy play happy families means more to you than you think?" Santana cast her derisive eyes down Quinn's body, shaking her head as she went. "You spent hours working out, too. Shame."

Quinn stopped by the door at Santana's words. Maybe she shouldn't have told Santana about _all_ the effort she'd put into her post-baby body. She turned back to the girl and scowled.

"I – you – ugh. Fine," she hissed, "But nobody hears of this."

"Yes they will," Santana scoffed.

Quinn pursed her lips and stared coldly at Santana, who was merely staring and filing her nails, feigning disinterest with a quirked eyebrow as she waited for Quinn to do as she asked.

"Well?"

Quinn looked up Santana and took a deep breath. She needed to compose herself, because Santana was _really_ going to push her over the edge with this. It was just what she did.

"Can I please, please, _please_ have my pace back on the squad?"

"Not good enough."

"I'll clean your car for a month."

"Try again."

"I'll let you slushie me in front of the entire school."

"Not quite, but your desperate offers are marginally improving."

"You have _got_ to be kidding me..."

"We have extra long practices now," Santana replied in a sing-song voice, laced with ridicule.

"I'll kiss your feet!"

Santana smirked. She looked down at Quinn, making dead sure the girl wasn't bluffing, and then to her tennis shoes and back to Quinn's dropping face with the realisation that she had given Santana far more than she should have.

"Well get on with it, tubbers."

* * *

Quinn left that locker room without her pride, although the fact that Santana promised Quinn would be back in her uniform before long trumped the fact she may as well just have written 'Property of Santana Lopez' across her forehead with a Sharpie pen.

Quinn kept herself to herself in the corridor – she would eat lunch in a quiet location, in case Santana had indeed decided to tell everyone that Quinn Fabray was so desperate to run away from her own parents that she got down on the floor and put her lips to her tennis shoes in some perverse act of submission.

Thankfully, nobody was giving Quinn strange looks in the corridor. She carried on, in the hopes that she'd make it to the choir room in one piece. She hadn't been hit with a slushie once today, which she was glad of. It only occurred to Quinn that she might have needed an extra set of clothes in the case of such an inconvenience half-way along her extra long route to school.

Quinn slipped into the choir room unnoticed by a soul – least of all, a soul with a slushie – and slammed the door sharply behind her. That could have gone smoother; but now, at least, she was alone.

Except, she wasn't.

"Quinn?"

Rachel was sitting at the piano, about to practise her scales. She looked befuddled with the sudden arrival of the blonde and furrowed her brow upon realising that she was about to spend her lunch hour in here, alone. Rachel did that, too, but she thought that the girl would at the very least be sitting with Kurt and Mercedes.

"Can I help you with anything?"

"Oh, no thanks," Quinn replied, unsure of what else to say. She hadn't thought of Rachel being in here – she assumed the girl would be away with Finn in the cafeteria, what with the two of them having had a summer romance from what she'd heard around.

A familiar silence descended upon the two, as Quinn moved gracefully across the room to take a seat in the front row. It was a little awkward, what with the girls having said nothing to each other over the course of the entire summer, though their semblance of a friendship had been based on silent hours together in the library.

Rachel admired Quinn out of the corner of her eye. She had hoped to have seen the blonde at least once today, but it transpired that they did not share any classes so far. Rachel had hoped that they would share at least one class this year, so that there would be more of a chance to get a conversation out of Quinn besides anything to do with their work. And she really did want to get a further look into the ways of Quinn's mind, after having read some of her essays last year.

Alas, the girls never spoke. Rachel practised her scales and Quinn listened intently, silently applauding her. She had no complaints about Rachel's voice, whether she was talking or singing; either was flawless; which was why Quinn now wondered why she ever had the girl shut her mouth in the first place, insecurities be damned.

Before long – or before it hit the girls that they had been in the room for an hour and not ten minutes – the warning bell for fourth period rang out. Quinn quietly packed away her things, and held the door open for Rachel as they both left.

Quinn had to do a double take at the textbook in Rachel's arms as they walked down the hall together, a word still not spoken to one another. She wasn't sure why Rachel was walking with her down the hall, seeing as she was on her way to Spanish, but she didn't question it. Quinn _really_ didn't mind Rachel's company.

"How did you get into AP Spanish?"

"You helped me last year, remember?" Rachel answered easily. "Thank you for that, by the way. I would have been mortified if I had to do summer school in order to pass the class."

Quinn smiled back at Rachel. She felt undeniable warmth spread through her chest at the thought that she'd at least made Rachel happy in some way or another. "Don't thank me, it was nothing."

Again, Quinn held the door open for Rachel as they entered their room for Spanish, feeling rather over-chivalrous for her efforts. The classroom was just beginning to fill up with students, ones that Rachel did not socialise with. Quinn decided that she would fix that this year.

Quinn tugged Rachel's sleeve before she had a chance to take the seats right at the front of the classroom, and led her to two spaces at the back. Rachel took the seat nearest the wall and Quinn sat by the aisle. It was the closest she'd ever sat by Rachel, even in the library last year. Usually, Rachel sat opposite to Quinn, and the tables were large enough so that their feet didn't accidentally brush against one another, but these tables were pretty small in relative.

Quinn's shoulder was almost touching the diva's. She shifted a little, as she realised she might have been unconsciously moving towards the radiating heat. She didn't want to scare the girl off with physical touching, given that this was the first time they'd spoken in about three months.

Rachel looked down, noticing how close her hands were to Quinn's. They had almost brushed against one another as they arranged their books on the desk, leaving Rachel feeling almost a little disappointed. She sort of hoped they would, seeing as they would probably try to avoid doing such things willingly.

Finn entered the room not long later, and looked perplexed at the sight of Rachel and Quinn sharing the same space. He was amazed that they would ever sit near one another in Glee, let alone somewhere where sitting together was _optional_. It transpired, however, that he had been staring to long at the girls, when Quinn decided she would shoot him back one of her famous icy glares as his eyes drifted to Rachel, almost accusingly.

He had walked into the room, hoping that Rachel had chosen her usual seat front and centre in the classroom so he could talk to her, seeing as he hadn't seen her all day.

"I guess this year should be a dream, apart from him," Quinn remarked. "Mr. Schuester was a good teacher."

Unfortunately, the girls weren't blessed with having Mr. Schuester as a Spanish teacher this year. A stout man of around five foot seven burst into the room and thrust several files down onto the desk. He announced himself as Mr. Wallace and wasted no time in throwing orders around.

As he dictated, the class wrote notes down about the curriculum. They would more than likely be doing that for the whole of the lesson, seeing as a lot of the class missed what Mr. Wallace was actually telling them either due to his horrific handwriting or his hurried speech.

"I cannot believe my luck; that man taught me last year," Rachel said, throwing her pen down onto the desk. "I hated him. I thought I'd have him out of my hair when I saw AP Spanish was on my schedule."

Quinn was a little shocked that the diva was so irate already. She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling like a kid in a comic book store as Rachel's face flushed red with ire. "If you get stuck along the way, I'll help you out."

Rachel nodded and smiled in thanks, as Mr. Wallace began his yelling again.

The rest of the day floated by like a dream for Quinn, it was excellent – nothing that anybody said could have fazed her. After Spanish, she walked Rachel to class at her request, before Finn could jump in. For the life of her, she had no idea why she and Finn weren't speaking. Judging from the way they acted at the end of last year – during and after they lost Regionals – she assumed they were already dating.

The icing on top of the cake, though, was when Santana approached her as the final bell rang, telling her that Sue was expecting her in her office _now_. As soon as she got there, Quinn was ordered to put the uniform on that Sue had actually thrown at her and get the hell out to the field to make it for practice.

Yes; today had been an excellent day _indeed_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Rating: T**

**Pairing: Quinn/Rachel, Brittany/Santana**

**A/N: Oh my God; an actual update. I swear the next one'll be up quicker.**

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"Quinn, I still don't understand any of this stuff," Rachel hissed. She didn't know why she was whispering, seeing as the substitute teacher they'd been landed with in Mr. Wallace' absence (one whole week after the beginning of term) was wearing headphones and flicking through a file that most likely housed half of the Amazon rainforest.

It must just have been a reflex, seeing as instead of doing actual work, they were supposed to be doing an exam paper from a few years ago. Nobody was, though, in line of tradition at schools across the nation. Nobody did work in sub classes whether the teacher was interested or may as well just not be there.

"Don't worry, Rach; I'll help you out, right?" Quinn replied. She glanced down at Rachel's paper, inwardly sighing. She was pretty bad at this stuff, it had to be said.

"Thank you." Rachel scanned her paper, looking out for a few words that she might understand. It was near impossible to concentrate, though, when the sound of heavily applied auto tune was poisoning her ears. Quinn slipped her paper across the table, into Rachel's line of view.

"Quinn! That's-"

"It's not my paper," she cut Rachel off in a hushed tone. Rachel's mouth hung open, as she noticed that Quinn had forged Rachel's name at the top of the paper, in surprising detail. She even stuck a star next to her name. As sweet as it was that she went to so much trouble, Rachel was still appalled Quinn would stoop so low so as to _cheat_ in a test.

She looked to the front of the classroom, noticing that their sub still had his headphones in as he flicked through his file and marked off a few more tests.

"This is deplorable, Quinn, I won't let you do it."

"Then I'll force you to let me," Quinn shot back, covertly pulling Rachel's paper out of the brunette's desk space and replacing it with her own. She smirked, as Rachel's mouth opened and shut frantically, trying to find the right words to say, but knowing that she'd rather Quinn do her work because it was so damned difficult, even if it went against every moral fibre in her body.

She sunk back into her chair as she watched Quinn cross out everything – yes, _everything_ – she had just written. She didn't bother to look closely for which words she'd scribbled over because that would take too long and already they were nearing the end of the lesson.

"There," Quinn admired her handiwork. "Still, this is far better than last year."

"You think? I have no idea how I came to some of those answers."

"It's just practice, is all," Quinn assured her, with a warm smile. "Like with math, or riding a bike, or singing. I mean, you can't do everything perfectly from the first day you set out, or life wouldn't be any good. There would be no hard work and then no feeling satisfaction knowing you've done your absolute best."

Rachel nodded along with Quinn's rather understated pep talk. It was such a relief to know that Quinn's calm demeanour hadn't been completely wiped away since she'd rejoined the Cheerios. Rachel figured that this was a new level of maturity that the blonde was going through; she could be popular, but she didn't have to regress back into her shell and become the Quinn Fabray everybody knew before Beth was born, and Rachel was more than just glad of that.

The bell rang suddenly – evidently, the class's sub didn't hear thanks to his headphones, so everybody packed up anyway. The entire class filed out of the classroom, surprisingly civilly, and made their way to class.

"Walk me to class?" Rachel whispered to Quinn, as they waited to leave. Quinn nodded her response and followed Rachel's eyes to Finn, who must have been surreptitiously watching their hushed conversations throughout the hour.

As Quinn's eyes met his, Finn turned away and made like he wasn't looking, joining in with some weird joke another one of the football jocks had been telling.

"Was it a bad breakup?" Quinn asked, as she and Rachel made their way along the hallway. Quinn was following Rachel around, not sure of where exactly the brunette would be taking her, but she knew she'd definitely be late at this rate, but as a Cheerio, she could make up some lame excuse involving Sue Sylvester and a meeting in her office.

"Huh? Oh, well, I suppose it wasn't the best. But then, break ups never usually are," Rachel supplied. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she walked with Quinn. She had no idea why the blonde wasn't rushing her to get along with class, because she knew for a fact that Quinn usually left Spanish in the complete other direction after a second period lesson on Tuesday, but she didn't feel the need to hurry the blonde away.

"Well, if you ever want to talk about that, I'm here," Quinn offered. It was the second of two incredibly friendly gestures she felt she'd made that day, even if the first was one was devoid of moral judgement.

Rachel walked into her class, after giving Quinn a hug – she duly informed her of this beforehand – and Quinn left. She was on top of the world, after a few hours in the presence of her former arch-nemesis. Thoughts of the past were nothing but bad memories, now.

"Hey, Quinn!"

_Oh, lord. Another jock_. She didn't even have to turn around to see exactly what she was expecting. Perhaps not in the exact shape or form, but in some way.

Sam Evans, from some remote corner of the universe, was power-walking towards Quinn down the hall. He reminded her of a golden Labrador; a big ball of sunshine with boundless energy and more than likely no measure of when to back the hell down. She could already see this one becoming a major annoyance.

"Hey," Sam repeated, as he slowed down. He gave a slight flick of his head to remove some of his blonde mop out of his eyes, only for it to fall back to where it had been a second later. "So, can I walk you to class?"

"Sure," Quinn answered indifferently, beginning to walk down the hall. At least now there'd be some way she would get rid of him, if her uninterested tone wouldn't.

"Um, so I was wondering, if maybe you and I could go out some time," Sam began, nervously twisting the straps of his bags in his hands. "I mean, unless you want to, or anything..."

"Sam; I'm busy. Thanks, but no thanks," Quinn hissed. She smiled softly towards him, masking her disdain of knucklehead football players trying to get into her pants. That was one thing about rejoining the Cheerios that Quinn wasn't so pleased about. At least she could shrug on her cold demeanour forged carefully from extreme practice in her formative years in the hopes that they'd damn well get the message. "And, um, thank you for walking me to class."

* * *

"So, um, I heard you were in the Glee Club."

Quinn snapped around, after leaving class, to see Sam standing by the door, apparently waiting for her. She didn't expect him to be there so soon, let alone at all. She looked him up and down, incredulously; he was standing there, asking her a question as if he were commenting on the colour of the sky, uncaring of the fact he had bothered to remember where he walked her to class after the first time he'd ever done it.

If he kept this up, he'd have a rep as a stalker pretty fast.

"Yes." Quinn began to walk in the opposite direction, maddened that he was following her. She thought he was cute, but not _boyfriend_ cute. It wasn't even boys she was interested in. "Are you thinking of joining?"

There was one thing he'd be good for, though. She had heard Finn going on and on about 'that Sam kid' being totally engrossed in the music when the Glee club performed _Empire State of Mind_ in the courtyard, so maybe he'd come in handy as a replacement for Matt.

She knew Rachel was utterly set on thrashing the competition this year after their disappointing result at Regionals, so she would do her bit to get the Glee club back in shape, even if it meant spending even more of her time in the presence of her quasi-stalker.

"Well, yeah," Sam replied, becoming more confident as she took a little more interest. "I mean, what you guys did in the courtyard the other day was _awesome_, even if nobody really cared in the end," he went on, gesturing wildly with his hands paired with a wide, lopsided grin. "But the football guys aren't totally for it, y'know, and I saw how bad that Rachel girl just got slushied-"

"Who slushied her?"

"What? I – I think it was Karofsky, or something," he supplied, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck, nervously. "Look, she'll be fine-"

"Bye, Sam. I'm going to find her," Quinn told him, stalking back down the hall, choosing to ignore the fact he was probably staring after her.

Not long after she'd left Sam in her surprisingly irate wake, Quinn found Rachel washing her hair out in the second floor bathrooms; not her usual spot, but judging by the puddle of red corn syrup in the middle of the hallway not so far away and the actual trail of slushie to the door, it was most likely her nearest option.

The syrup was dry on the linoleum – she must have been in there a while.

Rachel was the only one in the bathrooms when Quinn finally went in there to see how she was doing. She hoped Rachel's face wouldn't be marred with the redness brought on by fresh tears; she would be doing more than just teaching Karofsky a lesson if she found out he had actually made her _cry_.

"Do you need a hand?"

Rachel's eyes slid across the bathroom to see Quinn, standing sheepishly by the door. She'd placed her holdall on the floor and was standing awkwardly, wanting to know if Rachel was okay, but unsure of whether she would actually need to. "No, thank you; I'm rather adept at washing my hair out in bathroom sinks. Years of practice."

Although Rachel laughed a little awkwardly, Quinn still felt bad and nodded along, forcing a laugh, too. She felt the guilt rising in her body – each time she ever threw a cup of the frozen corn syrup at the girl, ordered someone else to do it or just laughed at her when someone had given her a spontaneous slushie facial had just mentally bitchslapped her. She deserved it.

Rachel's sweater was sodden with the syrup. There was a dark patch across the entire front of the thing, some of it dripping onto her skirt. "I didn't expect this to happen. You know, it's been a year," she complained, and looked to her bag. "I didn't even bring a spare change of clothes."

"Don't worry about that," Quinn assured the brunette, taking off her letterman and handed it to Rachel when she'd finished with her hair.

"What are you doing?"

"I don't have anything else to offer you," Quinn shrugged. She raised an eyebrow, waiting for Rachel to take it. "What? It's either this or a messy shirt that... I can now see your bra through."

Rachel flushed pink and snatched the jacket out of Quinn's hands, running into a stall to change. Quinn stifled a laugh at the girl's mortified face – she didn't need to be embarrassed about that. She wore that startlingly revealing corset to school, after all.

Although, Quinn did feel sort of embarrassed for the fact she'd actually pointed out the girl's bra was visible and now realised that she would have been staring at them for longer than necessary or appropriate for heterosexual girls to do.

Even Quinn chuckled internally at that one.

"Do I really have to wear this all day?" Rachel sighed, as she exited the stall, with her sticky sweater folded neatly in her hands. She pulled a plastic bag out of her schoolbag and stuffed her sweater into it, so it wouldn't destroy her books.

"What's wrong with it?"

"It clashes with my skirt," she huffed. The bright red didn't at all look right with a powder blue skirt and off-white knee socks. Where she got those clothes from, Quinn had no idea, but they _had_ to go, no matter how much she was enamoured with the girl. Maybe if she and Rachel became better friends, the brunette would let Quinn take her shopping.

And maybe if they managed to become more than friends, Quinn would let her keep the skirts and knee socks for... other things...

"Well, come with me to the Cheerios locker room; there'll be something in there that you can wear." Quinn suggested, taking Rachel's hand in hers and leading her out of the bathroom and into the empty hallway.

Rachel nodded as she entwined her fingers with Quinn's. It felt surreal. Yes, she had just been slushied for the first time in what seemed an eternity – but on top of that, she was wearing Quinn's letterman and holding hands with the girl in public, sort of. The capacity in which these events had unfolded was that of friendship and nothing more.

But dreaming was something Rachel prided herself on. And if she really put herself up to it, those dreams would come true. But you couldn't compare Broadway and Quinn Fabray, no matter which of the two were atop Rachel's list of priorities depending on where or with whom she was.

"Who did it?"

"Karofsky," Rachel replied, snapping out of her daze. "Look, Quinn, it was nothing – it just happens. I can deal with it," she added, upon seeing the increasing ire on Quinn's face.

"It wasn't nothing, Rachel," Quinn replied, standing in front of the shorter girl so she couldn't move forward. "He doesn't get to do that to you anymore, not if you're my friend. It shouldn't have happened in the first place."

"Don't beat yourself up about the past," Rachel looked into Quinn's eyes, smiling softly. "It's only a sweater-"

"It's not just a sweater, Rachel," Quinn huffed, beginning to get exasperated. She had no idea what was getting Rachel to just fall back on her laurels when the girl was otherwise so strong and determined. "It's your pride and your whole reputation. You're better than that loser, and we both know it. Everyone knows it. Hell, maybe even _he_ does. But even if he doesn't, he's not just going to get away with it."

"I don't endorse revenge," Rachel warned her playfully, in a feeble attempt to diffuse the situation. She recognised the cold look on Quinn's face; the blonde had just officially made it her mission to make Karofsky pay for what he did, whether Rachel approved or not.

Quinn seemed to have a way of defying Rachel's moral code, of recent, whether it was cheating in Spanish or exacting revenge on a boneheaded jock almost twice her size.

"Yeah, well, I'm going to make sure that nobody ever treats you like that again," Quinn promised her. She found herself with her hands on the girl's shoulders, holding her firmly in place. Quinn was almost completely lost in her deep, chocolate eyes. Had Rachel not snapped Quinn out of her reverie with her soft voice, she was certain that she would have acted on her ardent desire to kiss the girl.

"Um, Quinn, you're squeezing me," Rachel informed the bewitched Cheerio, who whipped her hands back down to her sides in a flash.

"Sorry," Quinn breathed out. She composed herself in a second, and began towards the locker room again.

"So the rumours are true," remarked Santana, as Quinn and Rachel walked into the locker room. Quinn smiled at Brittany and scowled at Santana, who merely smirked in return.

"What rumours?" Quinn asked, furrowing her brow. She should know if there were any rumours; most of them originated in the Cheerios' locker room.

"That you and the dwarf have been hanging out a hell of a lot more often lately," Santana elaborated, throwing her hair back into a high ponytail.

"Her name's Rachel," Quinn corrected the Latina, the disparagement dripping from her voice. Brittany nodded along with Quinn, mentally chastising the Latina. Santana cared not for the blondes' assessments of her, and continued shoving stuff into her locker.

"Whatever. Is there something going on with you two? I mean, you barely talked last year and now you're best friends all of a sudden. She's even wearing your letterman. You may as well be dating," Santana sneered.

"Rachel and I are just friends, Santana." Quinn explained, huffing in exasperation. She moved towards the piles of tracksuits on a rack to her left, in an attempt to hide her blush.

"We sit together in Spanish," Rachel elaborated. Quinn smiled down at her, handing her a large hooded sweatshirt and some track pants, thankful that she didn't look too offended when she bit back at the Latina's assumption they were anything more than friends. Quinn didn't want Rachel to be freaked that she had a crush on her, or something. Besides, she still wasn't properly over Finn.

Quinn had no doubt in her mind that Rachel would open up to her about that sooner rather than later, seeing as she was about the only member of Glee club that either spoke to her on regular basis about non-Glee related business or derided her at every chance they took.

"Oh yeah," Santana laughed drily, "I heard about you and Man-" Santana stopped mid-sentence as Brittany lightly slapped her arm. "You and _Berry_ in Spanish. Finnessa's sort of obsessing over it right now."

"Shut up," Quinn spat. "Rach, there are booths down there if you don't feel comfortable." It hadn't occurred to her that Rachel would feel strange changing in front of other girls. She had down for years. You slowly got used to it.

"Do you know what happened to Finn and Rachel over the summer?" Quinn enquired, once Rachel was out of earshot.

"Don't know, don't care," Santana shrugged, "Why, do you?" Santana furrowed her brow as Quinn stayed silent, searching for an answer. "Please don't tell me you want to get back with him. I mean, you were _lucky_ you never slept with that guy. It was the worst fifteen minutes of my life."

"I had nightmares when San told me," Brittany mused. A nauseous look flashed across her face for a second.

"Now, _please_ tell me you don't want to get back with him." Santana's tone left no room for debate. Not that Quinn needed to think before answering the Latina, in any case.

"I don't, trust me."

"Good. Because that new guy wants in with you," Santana informed her nonchalantly. "That is, unless you're too hung up on helping Berry with her Spanish."

"Sam? I know," Quinn sighed.

"Yeah. I prefer to call him ladylips," Santana cackled. "It's kind of weird; he's totally into you."

"Why?"

"Because I turned him down," Santana replied, as if it was the most obvious conclusion to come to. She cocked her head and studied Quinn's furrowed brow. The girl was back on the cheerleading squad and next to Santana, she was the most powerful member of the squad "He's a power-hungry football player. I mean, he's cute and all, but it's kind of boring listening to him go on and on about how he's the next big thing since Finn's been kicked off the football team."

"I guess," Quinn returned, not really paying attention. She had absolutely no intention of dating this Sam boy, whether he was the new quarterback or not. She'd already had more than her fair share of football players.

"Are you going to date him?"

"Um, I don't know," Quinn replied. She knew she was probably being too vague for Santana's liking, but she couldn't just go out and tell her she wasn't going to date him at all. Santana wouldn't ask why, but she was usually worse when there was suspicion mixed in with her morbid curiosity.

Quinn's eyebrow quirked as she looked over Santana's shoulder, and noticed Rachel emerging from a stall wearing a rather fine-fitting hoodie and track pants. Granted, the penny loafers would have to remain unnoticed if the look was actually to work, but the girl did still look hot underneath all that fabric.

"What the hell are you gawping at? Oh." Santana smirked at Quinn's reaction to what she just saw. "Nice penny loafers, Berry."

Rachel ignored Santana's snide remark, and took her place by Quinn's side. "It will have to do for now," she sighed.

"It'll have to do until you update your wardrobe," Santana laughed. "Which you might want to do if you're going to Puck's party on Saturday night."

"When was this decided?"

"About ten minutes ago. His mom's outta town."

"We all have to bring beer," Brittany added. "I'm not, though. If my cat ever found out, he'd tell my mom and then I'd be in big trouble."

Rachel and Quinn just nodded along with Brittany's admission. They daren't say a thing. The whole thing with Brittany's cat was a long and convoluted saga that nobody was to question, as long as Santana had something to say about it.

Brittany and Santana left the two quickly, in an apparent rush for something. Maybe that was why Santana was so irked; Quinn and Rachel had walked unexpectedly in on them in the locker room, all alone. Come to think of it, they'd probably been fooling around not long before that.

Quinn couldn't think about it for long without feeling jealous. Not of the two, specifically, but of the fact she couldn't be doing that with Rachel. That would be a long way along the road.

But Quinn was more worried about the prospects of Puck's party. She knew what happened last time she was under the same roof as Puck and an unhealthy amount of alcohol. On the other hand, if she didn't show up, there would be no point in her making it back on the squad and then people would talk. She didn't particularly want the entire school speculating about Beth or a possible repeat performance of her conception.

"Quinn? What's wrong?"

"Huh? Oh, nothing..." Quinn momentarily forgot Rachel was there; her head was swimming.

"You're worried about what happened last time, aren't you?"

Quinn laughed drily, at Rachel's disturbingly accurate question. Maybe the girl did have a sixth sense after all. "I guess. Look. Maybe it'd be best if I didn't go-"

"Nonsense, Quinn," Rachel looked into worried hazel, "I'm invited, too, so I'll be there to keep you safe. I'll be the designated driver."

Quinn smiled fondly. "Sure. And maybe I'll take up Santana's offer of getting you some new threads."

Quinn laughed at Rachel's immediate objection. Sure, the girl was ranting, but it had a softer, playful edge. Maybe she wouldn't be so averse, after all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Rating: T**

**Pairings: Quinn/Rachel, Brittany/Santana**

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews of the story so far :) much appreicated.**

**Lemme know what you think of this chapter.**

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Rachel's phone buzzed loudly on the kitchen countertop, as Rachel was preparing herself lunch. A vegan wrap of some sort, that she'd read about on the internet in an attempt to tempt her fathers into actually cooking for once. While she did enjoy the various take out joints they'd introduced her to over the years, once in a while, Rachel decided that a home cooked meal would be a nice gesture.

Instead of going to her fathers and ranting them about such matters – PowerPoint included – she decided to take matters into her own hands.

Her first attempts at making a wrap were good, but wraps were decidedly simple meals to prepare. She would try a new recipe next time, but for now, she was happy with her efforts. Her regular singing teacher had fallen ill, so she had drafted in somebody else to take over Rachel's lesson.

Rachel had ended the hour-long lesson twenty minutes in and, despite the fact that her teacher was inflicted with a nasty case of stomach flu, made sure that it would never happen again with one very strongly worded phone call. Her lessons had been cancelled for the next week, just in case.

"Listen, whoever you are, I'm not interested in any of your creepy products, least of all if they are derived from an environment linked in any way to exploitation and illegal harming of animals!" Rachel yelled, uncaring of who was on the other end. There wasn't a name for the number, so she figured that if it was a long-distance salesman, she would give him a piece of her mind right now.

"Rachel? Oh, I forgot you didn't have my number..." Rachel sat bolt upright as she heard Quinn's voice on the other end of the line. She hadn't expected the girl to call her, and had no idea how she'd gotten her number of all things. She couldn't remember Quinn directly asking for it, or Rachel giving it to her of her own accord.

In fact, Quinn had been rather sketchy with her since Dave Karofsky hadn't attended school on Wednesday or Thursday. On Friday, he was surprisingly meek and even _polite_. Even Santana – after Rachel spent several minutes debating whether she should actually bother speaking to the girl – said she had no idea what had gone down. She didn't care much either, unsurprisingly.

"I'm sorry – today hasn't been the best," she supplied, leaning on her arms against the cool marble of the counter.

"Oh, good," Quinn replied quickly, before flustering. "Well, not because you had a good day... but, well, I can make it better for you, is what I mean."

A small smile tugged at the corners of Rachel's mouth. She was intrigued, to say the least. "How?"

"You do remember promising to be my designated driver at Puck's party tonight, right?"

"I do," Rachel replied. She didn't regret promising to be there for Quinn if she'd be nervous, but Rachel didn't have much experience with parties. The only party she'd ever been to, if one could even count it as a party, was when New Directions were drunk on victory on the bus ride home from Sectionals last year.

"And I was thinking that maybe after yesterday's sporadic slushie attack, you could do with a new outfit. I mean, come on. If you're going to help me out, I'll help you," Quinn was nervous of Rachel's silence on the other end of the line. Maybe she had overstepped the line. After all, Santana did mention that Rachel should update her wardrobe, but Quinn wasn't intending to bow to Santana's orders ever, _ever_ again. She left it for now; this conversation would be better in the mall, face to face. "You're not busy or anything, are you?"

"No, of course not." Rachel was rather numb. Quinn was taking her out. Alone. _She's just your friend, Rachel_. She had to remind herself of that, constantly. It wasn't hard for Rachel to sometimes mistake people being friendly for actual flirtation. She wasn't as naive as she had been last year, but she still felt hopeful in times like this.

"Cool. I'll be round in ten," Quinn informed her.

Rachel fled out of the kitchen, to change into something less weird than usual. She didn't want Quinn to think her dress sense was as bad as it was. She pulled on one of her navy blue dresses – they weren't great, but they were better than her sweaters.

Just as she made her way down the stairs, there was a knock at the door. She pulled it open, still trying to slip into her pumps and found Quinn standing at the door with a quirked eyebrow, tapping her watch.

"You said you'd be ten minutes."

"I was home with my parents, I couldn't wait to make contact with a decent human being," Quinn griped, stuffing her hands into her pockets. She gave Rachel a warm smile, inspecting her choice of clothing – not the worst she'd seen the girl in, she had to admit – and began to make her way towards the car as she saw Rachel reaching for her purse on a small side table by the door.

Rachel locked the door behind her, as her fathers were out at the local hardware store, hoping to buy some frames for some wisteria they wanted to grow on the front of the house. She didn't question them, and put it down to them... ageing? They had been increasingly interested in their gardening recently.

Still, her parents were more than Quinn had from her parents. She didn't understand Quinn's relationship with her mother and father. She couldn't comprehend how they could throw a pregnant sixteen year old girl back on the street. She didn't understand why Quinn had moved out of Mercedes' house to go back home.

Perhaps it was because she was sheltered, or perhaps it was more to do with the fact the Glee club rarely updated her on things other than competition or for her to help them improve their voices.

Quinn, however, was changing all that for her. Never in a million years did she think that this girl would be the one hoping to rehabilitate her image. Sexy librarian schoolgirl chic wasn't exactly working for her, she had to admit. Even if she thought the skirts were cute.

* * *

"Did you have anything in mind for what you'd like to buy?" Quinn was pulling various dresses off of a rack and holding them up against Rachel's body, shaking her head at whatever she might have thought of it and replaced it. She knew Rachel needed a say in this, but if there was one person who knew her dresses, it was Quinn Fabray.

"Not really," Rachel replied, a little sheepishly, frowning at a gaudy red monstrosity that caught her eye. "Actually, not at all."

Quinn laughed. "Well, don't worry," she pulled a lime green number off of the rack, decided it wouldn't work, and shoved it back in with some horrific purple. "We'll get you something awesome so Finn can see what he's been missing, right?"

"I suppose..."

The question had been waltzing around in Quinn's mind ever since she had called Rachel that morning. The fact that Santana hadn't the faintest idea of what happened also fed her curiosity, and so the question danced off of her tongue, as if it were even Quinn's business to question what happened between the two. "Was that too forward? I mean. I don't even know what happened with you two-"

"It's fine, Quinn. It was a minor speedbump," Rachel answered. "I suppose that the thrill was that Finn was forbidden to me. And when I was free to have him, that romantic spark just wasn't there."

Quinn smiled, thankful that Rachel had opened up to her. It must have been a difficult time, judging by the glazed over look in the brunette's eyes as she most likely relived the scene and spoke with a hint of vulnerability. She could see that there were still things left unsaid, but she had enough for now, if Rachel had told her the whole truth.

She didn't doubt Rachel had been honest with her much, but she could imagine it had been the third harsh break-up she'd suffered in a year. Puck said they weren't friends, Jesse – well, Quinn couldn't even go there – and now, Finn, the one that Rachel was so sure of hadn't worked out according to plan.

"Well, I guess that worked out for the best," Quinn commented. "He was never a great boyfriend, Rachel. To either of us."

* * *

"How's it going with Quinn?" Finn set the weights down and leaned against the wall, watching as Sam finished up with his weights. He was determined to make it back on the team – as the _quarterback_ – if he was going to have a chance with getting Rachel back – or any girl at all.

"She's a tough nut to crack," Sam supplied. He wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his hand and took a swig of water. "But I think at Puck's party I can get her to open up a little more, you know?"

"Yeah," Finn replied, not really showing much interest in the conversation.

"What about you? You mentioned something about you and Rachel," Sam went on, "She and Quinn are pretty close, actually. I mean, we could all hang out and stuff if we all worked out, right?"

"I guess," Finn replied, with a forced smile. Really Finn wasn't sure of this blossoming friendship between Quinn and Rachel. He was unsure of why Quinn and Rachel were even speaking to each other. It was one extreme to another.

Had something happened over the summer? Was Quinn the reason Rachel broke up with him? It was all so vague. She told him she hadn't cheated, but she wouldn't tell him who she harboured all these feelings for. The feelings she should have had for him.

Puck had fought back equally as hard when Finn confronted him about Rachel. It couldn't have been Jesse, because he was in California. Mike was at Asian Camp, Matt had transferred and Artie was engrossed in a Call of Duty marathon.

Finn was stumped; he had gone through the list of boys he knew Rachel talked to from school, at least; she said the ones from her synagogue were just creepy, including Jacob Ben Israel.

"Was it a bad break up, or something? You seem pretty bitter about it."

"She told me she had feelings for somebody else; after a whole _year_ of trying to get me, she had me and then, like, half way through the summer, she told me it wasn't fair that she wanted someone else while we were dating," Finn moaned. "I mean, she didn't even tell me who it was – I mean, even Puck wasn't the dude."

"Speaking of Puck... You're going to his party, right?"

"Sure."

"Good. I think this is our chance to get our girls, dude," Sam suggested, "We need to be proactive, you know? You're gonna be on the team, and you need your girl back and you can't mope around anymore."

"Yeah, well, we can't all be fitness freaks, dude," Finn grumbled.

"Huh?"

"Nothing," Finn amended. "I'll talk to her at the party."

"Good. A little optimism's all you need, right?"

Finn shrugged. He hoped that was all that he needed to convince Rachel with.

* * *

"I like the red better," Quinn said. She looked in the mirror and admired the dress on Rachel, while doing up the zipper, "I mean, the blue you picked out was great, but I think you want something awesome for this party. And," Quinn added, smoothing down the fabric along Rachel's sides, "If you don't want to make Finn jealous of this new you, you can always upstage Santana."

Quinn and Rachel's eyes met in the mirror, and Quinn realised what she was doing. Her hands were perched comfortably on the diva's hips as they stood very much in each other's personal space. Quinn cleared her throat and took a step back, removing her hands. "I mean, I don't want to reinvent you – you're perfect as you are – I mean, um-"

"Thank you," Rachel stopped Quinn before she could trip over her words _too_ much, as sweet as she found it. It was strange, and oddly gratifying, that Quinn's vulnerable side was so openly displayed and more so, the more time she and Rachel spent time together.

Quinn said nothing in return to that. Instead, she pulled out the shoes that Rachel bought, and handed them from the brunette. "Go on, Bambi."

Rachel feigned hurt and mock-glowered at Quinn. The heels on the shoes weren't high – two inches – and they were more than enough. The girls had been shown out of one of the stores they'd been in by security guards for laughing so much at Rachel being completely unable to walk in them.

These, however, were far better; her feet fit snugly into the shoes and they felt surprisingly stable. Rachel turned to Quinn, who could barely conceal her delight. The grin that spread across her face almost split her face in two.

"What do you think?"

"I think we did a great job today," Quinn replied, still grinning maniacally. She couldn't help herself. This was the Rachel that people needed to see. She could be herself _and_ look smokin' hot. Not just for Finn's benefit, like her last makeover was for; this was for Rachel.

Quinn had her own ulterior motives for getting Rachel into a leggy dress, anyway, but she would never tell Rachel that. It was selfish, and it might scare the girl away.

"I think we did a good job with you today, too." Rachel walked over to Quinn, still in the heels, pulling the girl to stand from her bed. "But why black? There are so many other colours you could have chosen."

"We're going to that party tonight so people will notice _you_," Quinn told her, slipping into her own pair of heels. "You deserve it."

* * *

Puck's party was already heaving with everybody who was somebody at McKinley – well, the Glee Club was there, too and they hadn't been publically humiliated yet. It was amusing that people could easily forget the notion of the status quo once the music was loud and the alcohol was flowing.

The bass rumbled through the walls and the ground, and could be heard several blocks away; Rachel was actually shocked that the police hadn't been called over to deal with such a loud party so early in the evening.

"Don't be nervous," Quinn whispered in Rachel's ear as they walked arm in arm down Puck's driveway. "Nothing will happen if you stay sober, Rachel. Thanks again for that, by the way."

"Don't mention it, Quinn," Rachel returned, as they entered Puck's bustling house.

Immediately, the girls found shelter in the kitchen from the jocks hurling footballs and Solo cups – empty and full – at each other, and anybody else who was stupid enough to get in the way.

"Well _hello_, Berry," Puck leered, as he stepped into the kitchen. He sidled up to Rachel, leaning on the counter next to her, "Q. Didn't think you'd show your face round here with Berry looking like that. It's totally hot," he added, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at the blushing brunette.

"Thank you for noticing, Noah," Rachel replied, smiling brightly at him. Rachel fiddled nervously with the hem of her dress, as he moved ever closer to her.

"You're not hard to miss," he flirted. "I always liked red on you. But I like those hot little skirts better."

Quinn felt her blood boiling as Puck continued to work his magic on Rachel. What hurt her more, though, was that she wasn't exactly stopping him. She was glad that Rachel would be solid in her resolve not to drink tonight. Although at this rate, it probably wouldn't take any alcohol whatsoever for her to climb into bed with him.

"If you're up for it later, I'll be totally free."

"Beat it, Puck," Quinn snapped, upon hearing the offer leave his mouth. Puck left, winking at Rachel, and disappeared back into the crowds. Quinn shut the door behind him, and then they were alone.

Maybe the party was a bad idea. She wanted Rachel to be noticed, but she didn't factor jealousy into the equation or the fact that Rachel might be a teeny tiny little bit interested in Puck. She didn't know _why_. Maybe the rush of being at the party itself was going to her head.

The music was muffled, though still loud enough to cause at least mild ringing in your ears the morning after.

"What do we do now?"

"Huh? Oh... well, I guess we could go and mingle," Quinn suggested weakly. She actually just wanted to be left alone with Rachel. Maybe they could leave early. But first, Quinn thought that they could find Kurt and Mercedes to talk to. If it wasn't them, their only other option would be Brittany and Santana, and judging by their lack of presence downstairs, they would most likely be upstairs.

Seeing as they hadn't extended either Quinn or Rachel an offer to join them, they figured that they'd be getting up to all sorts of things that anybody else would want to see; excepting horny creeps, of course.

"Hey! Watch where you're going –"

"Quinn."

"Finn."

Rachel tugged Quinn out of Finn's way, as he entered the empty kitchen, Sam following closely behind.

"Can we talk, Rach?" Finn looked to Rachel, hopefully. "Alone?"

"Of course, Finn." Rachel looked to Quinn, smiling softly, assuring her this would be okay. The blonde was visibly more than irritated with the presence of Finn; Rachel didn't fully understand that much. Or perhaps it was the love struck look on Sam's face that was pissing her off. "I won't be long."

Finn took Rachel's hand and led her out of the kitchen, leaving Sam alone with Quinn. She couldn't believe this. Sam looked like he was in a dream, but this was very much a nightmare for Quinn.

Why Rachel was even willing to talk to him alone was bothering her. She had a good idea that he would probably be taking her upstairs for privacy – yeah, right. She didn't think Finn would actually get very far, but he'd try. And Rachel seemed exceptionally susceptible to a little shallow flirtation, if whatever had just happened with Puck was any indication.

Quinn took one look into the hallway, catching a final glimpse of Rachel behind the lumbering Finn, and then she turned back to the counter. She didn't shut the door – she needed to be able to leave quickly or at least have people be able to see what was going on. Quinn reckoned that she would probably stay here in case Rachel needed to find her. Well, that and the fact Quinn wasn't feeling so sociable all of a sudden.

The bottles of vodka and various other spirits were becoming too much of a temptation for her. She hadn't touched a drop of alcohol since Charles' christening. That was only one glass of champagne. Right now, she had a chance for more.

She told Rachel she wouldn't, that she was scared of the implications drinking in the company of other sexually deprived teens had. But one cup of vodka with lots of soda to make up for it? She wouldn't mind that, unless she found out. So Rachel wouldn't find out.

"So, we haven't had much of a chance to talk," Sam began, shoving his hands into his pocket as Quinn roughly measured herself out some vodka and sloshed in some diet cola.

"No, we haven't."

"I mean, I haven't seen you between classes or anything. And, um, I was wondering if you would give a little more thought to if you'd like to go out with me on Monday night. I know this amazing place that does this awesome, um, Mexican food..."

Sam stopped speaking, after Quinn decided she would just take a mouthful of vodka from the bottle. She had knocked back the contents of her cup in one go and was apparently bored. She couldn't blame herself, though. Who the hell asked a girl out to eat _Mexican_ food?

"Is that healthy?"

"What? Of course," Quinn brushed it off, and poured herself a shot (or something of the sort) vodka into the cup. She watched him carefully, and added extra soda this time. She needed to take it off of her breath. Maybe putting actual vodka in the cup wouldn't help, but she needed a pick me up if Rachel was going to be much longer. She'd been upstairs with Finn for about fifteen minutes already.

"It's just, you know, I really like you, Quinn," Sam admitted. "I think we could be something special."

Quinn froze. She finished the rest of her cup, her cautious eyes trained on Sam's wanton blue. She knew what this was.

His lips were on hers in a second – the faint taste of Chinese food mingled with strong vodka, as their lips awkwardly mashed together in the spur of the moment. It wasn't particularly enjoyable for a number of reasons, for Quinn. Sam was making himself more comfortable with every unnecessary second Quinn spent processing exactly what was happening.

Quinn shoved the boy off of her, "What the hell are you playing at?"

"I – I thought you," he stammered, catching his footing. "Sorry."

"Whatever. Just stay away from me, alright?" Quinn yelled. She took off from the kitchen, ignoring Sam shouting "Sorry!" after her. She didn't need to hear it.

"Whoa, there, baby mama," Puck grabbed Quinn's arm, "What's up? Someone bothering you?"

"Don't call me that," Quinn spat, "Do you have any alcohol?"

* * *

"Finn, I don't see why we had to come into Puck's bedroom to have this discussion," Rachel muttered. She sat on the edge of Puck's bed, awaiting Finn to present his case to her, knowing he'd be pretty up front about it. He had been pretty vocal the last time they had a real conversation.

"We need peace and quiet," Finn reasoned. He sat down by Rachel, and cleared his throat. "I know we had our differences, but it's not summer anymore. We need to be with each other."

"I already told you, Finn – I have feelings for another person-"

"Rachel, we _already_ had something special," Finn took her hands in his, "You know what we have; we're great friends, we're great on stage... Why throw that away on a whim?"

"Just like you did?" Rachel tore Finn's hands out of his, and stood up from the bed, "You dumped me to date Santana and Brittany last year, because you thought you would get to have a threesome with them!"

"Rachel, no," Finn objected, getting up and making two long strides to the door, "You don't understand – this is different."

"How?"

Finn leant down and captured Rachel's lips in a kiss, filled with all the passion he could muster. He cupped her face with his hands, holding her steady as he deepened the kiss, and let the moment wash over them.

Rachel pulled his hands away from her face and pulled out of the kiss. "What was that?"

"That's how I feel about you, Rach," Finn whispered. "You were wrong to dump me – I'm good to you. What happened, happened. We can start afresh."

Rachel stared dumbly at him, shaking her head. "No, Finn, we can't."

"Rachel, please," Finn begged. He grabbed her hand again, before she could leave. "Sit down."

Rachel sat on the bed again, at his request, but didn't plan on making herself comfortable.

"I'll be back on the football team soon, and we can practise better for sectionals if we're together again – we can build on our awesome chemistry, and we can go to regionals and nationals and take Vocal Adrenaline."

Rachel watched, unblinking, as he spoke. She couldn't deny that Finn meant what he was saying. He always meant what he was saying, though, when he didn't have what he wanted. And when he had Rachel, he would be after someone else.

"We don't need to be an item to have a good stage presence," Rachel countered. "I want us to be friends, Finn, I really do, but I can't be your girlfriend."

"Stop saying that –"

"If I stop saying that my heart belongs to somebody else doesn't mean it isn't true anymore," Rachel interjected. "Even if I don't have a chance with them, I couldn't string you along. It wouldn't be fair."

Finn didn't say anything after that. Both he and Rachel sat in Puck's room in silence for a considerable amount of time, before Rachel finally got up and left. She shut the door quietly behind her, quickly acclimatising to the rowdy party she'd excused herself from.

She could still feel the taste of Finn's last meal on her lips; pork, or something similar. She swiped at her lips, as if that would automatically remove it from her lips.

She shook her head and went downstairs to find Quinn again. Rachel hadn't the faintest idea of the time, but she'd been a long time. She felt a little bad that she'd left Quinn so long, but that talk with Finn _was_ long overdue. She just wished it didn't have to happen tonight, of all nights.

Today had been such a good day with Quinn; Rachel didn't want to have to make what should have been the two of them having fun together something all about Finn or Sam or whatever they wanted.

"She's not yours, Puckerman! Stop taking advantage of her!"

Rachel hit a wall of still teens, as she heard Sam's voice above all the rest. The house was far from silent, but the anger in the boy's voice carried across the chatter and general ruckus in the Puckerman household this evening.

Rachel squirmed through the throng of her peers, to find Sam and Noah dangerously close to having a fistfight amid a hysterically drunken Quinn.

"Yeah, and she's not yours, either!" Puck stepped around Quinn and shoved Sam forcefully, backing him into a group of feeble looking hockey players.

"She's nobody's!" Rachel yelled, stepping out from the crowd, as the violence was about to escalate. Quinn was wiping tears from her eyes; Rachel felt her heart break at the sight.

Quinn's reddened eyes met Rachel's, and she threw herself at the girl, wrapping her arms around her neck and dissolving into more tears as she buried her face in the crook of the brunette's neck.

Rachel wrapped her own arms around Quinn's waist, as she felt warm, salty tears fall onto her skin. She whispered sweet nothings into Quinn's ear, hoping she would calm down in front of their audience.

Rachel could smell the vodka on her breath, and threw Puck a dirty look for even giving it to her. He should have known way better than to try that again. Rachel could see what Quinn had meant, and now she wondered if she should have actively dissuaded the girl from going to the party.

They could have done something themselves – it was clear that their blossoming friendship was well developed already and after today, spending time alone together was no problem for either of them – plus, Rachel had an array of musicals on DVDs that she would be more than happy to educate Quinn with.

Rachel stroked Quinn's hair, as the tears finally subsided. By then, everybody had fallen back into whatever they'd been doing prior to the almost-incident.

"Thank you," Quinn breathed into Rachel's ear, still holding tightly onto the girl. Her voice was thick and raspy with tears.

Quinn stumbled, as she pulled herself off of Rachel's frame. Rachel steadied her with her hands, still firmly planted on the blonde's hips. Quinn looked lost, as she tried to place herself in this time and place. Her eyes looked a little blank and glazed over.

A small spark of life jolted into them, when her eyes met Rachel's. She was glad. There was still a semblance of life left in the girl, after all.

She carefully helped Quinn out to the car, dodging the debris spread across Puck's front lawn. Boy, would he be in trouble if his mother decided to come home early.

"I'm sorry; I said I wouldn't, but I..."

"Shhh," Rachel whispered, as she helped Quinn into the passenger seat of her car. "Don't talk. Just sleep. We can talk later."

Quinn nodded, and slumped into her chair. She watched Rachel as she quickly dashed to the driver's seat and started the engine, pulling away from Puck's place as fast as she could.

"Sleep, Quinn." Rachel ordered, albeit playfully. She watched as Quinn obeyed – not that she had a choice, seeing as her eyelids were beginning to droop already – with a small smile on her face.

It remained all the way home, unfaltering in the dim moonlight for the entire journey home, and when Rachel had a hell of a time helping Quinn walk and _then _trying to keep her quiet through her house without alerting her fathers.

She wasn't being particularly talkative; she was clumsier, as most drunks were. She did, however, do one thing perfectly with zero effort involved; fall onto Rachel's bed and spread her limbs across the bedspread, effectively demoting Rachel to the guest room for night.


	5. Chapter 5

**Rating: T**

**Pairings: Quinn/Rachel, Brittany/Santana**

**A/N: Sorry for the lack of updates, recently. A lot of personal crap's gone down.**

**Enjoy...**

* * *

Quinn groaned, burying her head into the soft pillows to block out the streams of pale sunlight burning her eyes, from the gap between the curtains. She blinked her eyes open groggily, to find she was spread across Rachel's bed, still clad in her dress.

She was alone in the silence of the house, save for the humming of the central heating system setting itself up, grating against the dull ache in her head – and the rest of her body, for that matter.

Her limbs were concrete, locked in the positions they were on the bed, leaving her to move lethargically, if she could be bothered to move at all.

With sluggish affect, Quinn manoeuvred herself off of her stomach, and sat on the edge of the mattress, steadying herself against the sturdy frame of Rachel's four-poster bed.

Quinn remembered being led through the house, giggling, being told by Rachel to shut up as loud as was possible without contributing Quinn's noisy attempts at walking. And after she'd peeled her flimsy frame from Rachel's firm grip on her, there was only black

Sleep had overcome her the second she ungracefully fell onto the comforter, heavy lids snapping shut on the rest of the world.

Now, the blurry memories had slipped away and all Quinn knew was that her head was pounding, and her stomach was twisting angrily in protest to whatever she'd drunk last night.

Quinn pulled herself away from the bed, clutching her stomach, and staggered to the bathroom. She emptied the contents of her stomach into the toilet, coughing and spluttering at the vile taste of vodka and bile in the back of her throat.

Her ragged breath was all that could be heard; apparently the sound her rushing into the bathroom hadn't been enough to disturb anybody's sleep. She was glad. Quinn probably had to get home soon; it was Sunday and there was church to attend and parents to be good for, even if she'd rather sit in Rachel's house all day long, even if it meant throwing up like this.

She'd stay with Rachel all day even if it meant explaining to the brunette exactly what she'd done last night, or more importantly, _why_ she'd done it.

Quinn slumped down against cool tiles, wiping her sweaty brow with the back of her hand; anything for relief. She looked up to Rachel's medicine cabinet, and groaned at how far away it was, as she cowered on the floor, her hand resting on her stomach, almost trying to soothe it.

She pulled herself off of the floor, and flushed the toilet, taking a few seconds to rest against the wall to catch her still unsteady footing. She retched at the taste of vodka and bile still lingering in her throat, and meandered to the medicine cabinet in the search of a spare toothbrush – it was either that or physically squirting the toothpaste into her mouth, which Quinn considered, even if the amount of toothpaste she'd have to use to get what she was currently tasting out of her mouth made her eyes burn.

Sadly, though, there was no mouthwash to

Stumbling back into the bedroom, Quinn found her phone and found the time was half past six in the morning. Her heart stopped, when she realised she would have to be ready and un-hungover for church.

Quietly, she tidied up after herself – making sure _everything_ was in the same place it was before Quinn's alcohol induced clumsiness knocked it out of place – and made sure she had everything of her own before she left.

Before she began her descent, Quinn peered down the hallway and crept towards the guest room, where she was sure Rachel had put herself in for the night after Quinn had claimed her bed with long, sprawling limbs.

In the room, Rachel was sound asleep, unstirred in the breaking dawn. Quinn felt bad just leaving so early, without so much as a thanks and a conversation with the brunette, but if her father found out she hadn't even come home last night – let alone knew _where_ she'd partied and then stayed the night – she would basically be signing her own death warrant, or near enough.

She was peaceful in slumber; the bedcovers were pulled tightly around her sleeping form, curled into the foetal position, with tresses of deep brown hair framing her face on the plump pillows.

Rachel's dress was hung neatly over the back of the chair, her heels lined up against the wall; typical Rachel.

She pulled Rachel's door to, before thoughts of the girl in her underwear _completely_ flooded her mind and swept down the stair case, letting herself into the kitchen to get her hands on some Advil. Hell, if there was horse tranquiliser somewhere in the Berry household, she'd happily take that right now.

Unfortunately, this would lead to more clattering – she had no idea in which of the many cupboards the medication in this house was kept – and there was certainly no Advil in Rachel's own medicine cabinet; Quinn had checked earlier.

She pulled a chair out from the table, so she could reach the higher cabinets. Quinn had considered just clambering onto the worktop itself, but if she was finding walking difficult with a hangover, she wasn't about to start with trying to lift her legs high enough to hoist herself three feet off of the floor with a high chance of ungracefully falling flat on her ass afterwards.

"Quinn?"

Quinn almost jumped out of her skin at the sound of Rachel's sleep-ridden voice from the doorway. Evidently, her search for pain relief was louder than her clumsy footing and vomiting.

"I'm sorry if I woke you." She didn't know what else to say. The response was quick and reflexive, though she wasn't sure why; apologies were not included in Quinn's usual vocabulary. Perhaps it was the innocence resonating from the brunette's diminutive stature and her atypically quiet voice, coupled with tousled hair and an oversized sleep shirt.

She had half expected Rachel to be clad in some form of night-dress, considering the fact Quinn hadn't really gone over sleepwear on their shopping excursion yesterday. It was presumptuous of her, yes, but she had good intention.

"Don't be," she brushed it off. One look at Quinn's pale face and the light purple rings encircling her eyes, and she knew what she was after. After the amount Quinn had drunk last night, she wasn't surprised. "The Advil's in the upper cupboard by the fridge."

Quinn dashed across the room and popped a few of the pills, washing them down roughly with a glass of water. "Thanks." The water was cool, gliding easily over the harsh burning in the back of her throat, soothing her.

"Listen, Rach, I really have to go."

"Parents?"

"Church, too." Quinn wasn't sure if Rachel really was psychic, or if her family life was so predictable. She decided it was more than likely the latter, and wrapped her arms around the girl in a appreciative hug, "Thank you." She smiled against Rachel's hair, as she felt the shorter girl's arms tighten around her own waist.

"You already said that," Rachel pointed out. She was alarmed at the sudden gesture – and the amount of mint she could smell on the other girl's breath – but nonetheless returned it.

"Shut up," Quinn yawned, laughing lightly. "Oh, crap." She caught a glance at the clock on the back wall of the kitchen, and quickly relinquished Rachel from her hold.

* * *

Quinn parked her car in the garage, as quietly as she could manage – which wasn't too bad, seeing as her mother had probably cleared any tools that her father might have been using away – and snuck into the house through the door connecting the garage to the kitchen. Her father's car was parked haphazardly in the driveway; she could imagine that he'd had at least something to drink before he left wherever he was last night.

At least, if he couldn't have been bothered to park the car in the garage, Quinn could use that excuse to explain why he hadn't seen her car on the property last night; that was, if he even remembered last night.

All was silent in the house. She could see that there had been a few whiskeys knocked back before Russell and Judy went to bed, and shoes kicked off messily in the living room. Her mother must've been _very_ drunk not to have picked those up and neatly lined them up in the closet under the stairs.

She hadn't remembered her parents saying they'd be out last night, but Quinn rarely listened if her parents mentioned anything to her, unless it was her father criticising her lack of interest in the upcoming Chastity Ball; she only ever listened to that, as it was the only time he would 'allow' her to be in his hallowed study.

Last night had probably been a fancy do with a number of Russell's liquor-guzzling work friends, conjured up weeks ago for the purpose of cracking open a fine few bottles of Scotch whiskey.

Quinn silently dashed to her room, knowing that the muffled thuds of her feet on thick rugs and polished wood wouldn't cause stirrings in either parent, and ever-so-quietly shut her bedroom door behind her. She was thankful her bedroom was down the other end of the hall, the furthest possible room on the first floor away from her parents.

Her father had allowed her to have it when Frannie went to college, and now Quinn knew why Frannie was so adamant to have it to herself. They rarely ever came down her, if ever to check on their daughter, as there were apparently far more important or interesting things to do elsewhere in the house, excepting Judy's need to clean and tidy.

Quinn meticulously cleaned her teeth a further three times, this time with a _lot_ of mouthwash for good measure.

She reckoned, with her father's track record, that he'd be able to smell the amount of alcohol she'd consumed on her breath a mile off. She'd seen when he'd worked out when Frannie had been at a party with alcohol, and she sure as Hell didn't want that inflicted on herself.

It was why she hadn't drunk since her father had moved back in. She hid the remaining bottles of Grey Goose under her bed, the total content of her illegal possessions filling several shoeboxes that were thickly lined with tissue paper.

She would have thrown them out, but it was better to keep them for a rainy day.

* * *

At eight o'clock on the dot, as was every other Sunday, the Fabrays were sitting down to a hearty breakfast – one which Quinn seldom enjoyed out of choice – before they left for church.

Judy, as per normal, had eaten before Quinn and Russell were up and was now tending to cleaning the kitchen and serving up anything else that the other two might want, before she would put on her Sunday best.

"Where were you last night, Quinn? Your mother and I didn't see your car in the driveway last night," Russell began. He clasped his hands together and leaned back into his chair, waiting for his daughter's reply.

In honesty, Russell didn't expect much from Quinn. He did, however, see a large window of opportunity to properly discipline his daughter for another of her epic wrongdoings, if he could prove so, and took it gladly.

Her behaviour, though cold and minimal, was exemplar, and it irked Russell to no end. He didn't trust her, and he knew she knew it.

"I was with a friend," she replied coolly, between bites of bacon. She made minimal eye contact with him, though. She still had a pounding headache and was certainly not interested in a full-blown argument this early in on a Sunday.

"How late did you come back from wherever you were with your _friend_ yesterday?"

"Ten sharp," Quinn set her cutlery down as she answered him; Russell's cold tone of voice had caught her off guard. She looked up and met his determined brown eyes with cautious hazel.

"And _where_ exactly were you?"

"Out."

"You know, if you don't give me a straight answer, I'm going to assume you spent your day getting drunk with more two-bit pool boys, and you don't want to know what I'll do if you let me get that far," Russell warned, clenching his fists. He stood up and walked round to Quinn's end of the table and grasped her shoulders, leaning down, so that his lips were centimetres from her ear. "So, where were you?"

"We went shopping and we went back to _her_ house to watch a few movies; no alcohol, no pool boys and no besmirched family name."

"Don't you give me that; I told you you'd better learn to watch yourself around here," he hissed, "Who was this friend?"

Quinn swallowed. If her father found out she was hanging out with Rachel, he would be livid. There had been nothing but contempt for the Berry family in the Fabray household for as long as she could remember, and much like his drinking, Russell's habit of condemning them to Hell at every mention of their names was a hard one to kick.

"Santana," Quinn answered.

"Lopez?"

"Who else?"

"Don't screw around with me," Russell growled. He let go of her shoulders and returned to his place at the head of the table, "Now go and clean up in the kitchen with your mother. That'll soon teach you your place."

Quinn did as she was told, wishing she could punch her father in the mouth for speaking to her like that. She was glad her mother had been in the kitchen; she didn't know if she'd be able to handle watching her mother turn her cheek to his attitude towards her.

Her mother was humming along to gospel music playing from her radio atop the counter, as she washed dishes. Her words to Quinn, as her daughter handed her the dirty plates, were sweet nothings.

As much as her mother cared, she really didn't. Quinn was, as always, just another ornament to keep in line.

* * *

Finn folded his arms tighter across his chest, getting deeper and deeper in thought about what happened between he and Rachel on Saturday night. There wasn't much to it, really, other than Finn being at a total loss as to who the dude could actually be.

"How'd it go with Rachel? You left the party real early, man, and you didn't answer your calls." Sam flicked a chip over to Finn, catching his attention. He'd been out of it, lately.

"It went terribly, okay?"

"Whoa, dude, don't bite my ass about it," Sam held his hands up defensively, "What did she say?"

"Exactly what she said before; she has feeling for someone else, and she won't date me until she's figured all that crap out."

"So, Rachel's free?"

Finn narrowed his eyes at Puck. "What's it to you?"

"I was totally almost in with her," Puck boasted, smirking off of Finn's glare at the sound of the words. "I would have been, if Quinn wasn't being such a total cockblock, you know?"

"Shut up," Finn spat.

"Whatever," Puck replied. "I'm outta here. I don't need to listen to you two get your granny-panties in a twist 'cause you're screwed in the lady-loving department."

* * *

At school on Monday, Rachel had hoped to find Quinn sometime before Spanish, so she could ask her how she ended up getting so drunk, after she said she wouldn't want even think of touching alcohol under the same roof as Puck.

It befuddled Rachel that Quinn was already very drunk, within ten feet of Puck. Granted, Rachel had been a while with Finn upstairs and she didn't see how Puck and Sam's fight actually started, but it still required an explanation.

Rachel was determined to get an explanation from Quinn, after she had promised not to drink at her first proper party because of Quinn's fear. She hadn't lost trust in Quinn, she was only worried. Not only was she drinking around a notoriously mischievous jock, she was in floods of tears and Rachel had no clue why.

If Quinn considered her a friend, she would do all within her power as a friend to make sure Quinn was okay.

She glanced down the hall, and found what she was looking for and her heart rose briefly, before she realised she wasn't alone. Quinn was walking down the corridor with Sam – who, by the way, looked completely awestruck by her mere presence.

Quinn caught Rachel's eye – her face instantly lighting up – and she began to walk towards the girl. She was blatantly ignoring Sam and his particularly one-sided discussion with her about football, or something, and she now saw the perfect opportunity to get rid of him.

"Hi, Rachel. Sam," Quinn turned to him sharply, with a saccharine sweet smile – one that he wasn't usually subject to, which intrigued him, "I'll see you later."

He looked momentarily disheartened with her sudden goodbye, but didn't dwell on it long. It was probably a girl thing. "So, you'll really think about it this time?"

"Yes," she replied, still holding in her exasperation with her false smile. Agreeing with him was the quickest way to get him off your case. She found that was the case with most men.

"Sweet," he returned, beaming at Quinn, and flashing Rachel a toothy smile, too. "See you ladies later, then."

"Come, Quinn; we need a frank discussion about the other night."

"Why?" Rachel was moving too fast for Quinn to gain a single coherent thought – she had proceeded to walk away, tugging on Quinn's arm for the taller blonde to follow.

"I believe, as friends, it should be important for us to tell one another why we say one thing and do the complete opposite, with an obligatory explanation," Rachel explained.

Quinn nodded, and allowed Rachel to lead the way to the choir room. She was dreading this; she could tell Rachel the truth and freak her out or she could tell Rachel a lie and piss her off.

She allowed Rachel to about drag her into the choir room, and from there, she took a seat by the girl in the front row, as she mulled over various thoughts, excuses and reasons why she should just tell the truth.

"Listen, Quinn, I understand that you and Finn don't have the best track record since... last year," Rachel chose her words quickly, upon Quinn's eyes rising to meet hers, full of angst, "But you have to tell me why you decided to drink after all, especially after telling me how anxious you were, what with Puck being there and also being very, very available."

"Okay. I was mad."

"What?"

"Look, I couldn't get Sam to shut up... and I was really pissed at Finn."

"Is that it?"

Quinn cringed at the incredulous look on Rachel's face. She knew what she had just said needed major elaborations, and judging by Rachel's defiant stance, her arms folded tightly across her chest, she was waiting for it.

"I don't know what to say – I was jealous, that Finn ended up spending most of the night with you, rather than me."

"W-"

"I mean, because we spent the day together, and I guess... God, I don't mean I was jealous because – well, I sort of want to make up for all the years I was a complete bitch to you..." _Alright, so that part was true_. Quinn froze, as she read the fleeting emotions rush over Rachel's features. "I don't have a crush on you, if that's what you were thinking."

She had to say it. Even if she sounded strange for even jumping to that conclusion, she felt she had to hear herself say it, not only for her sake, but their tentative friendship was already hanging precariously from an ever thinning thread, with every second that prolonged their stay in the empty choir room.

"Of course – I didn't think that was what you meant at all," Rachel assured Quinn, with the best smile she could muster up, though her walls were crumbling down as she did.

She wasn't sure, after such a flustered admission, which of the words Quinn said to her carried an ounce of truth within them, but she didn't need to spend her entire day ruminating over them an awful amount; she had promised herself, that with Quinn extending to her the hand of friendship, she would quit over-analysing everything anybody had ever said to her because at least one of her crazy dreams had come true.

She was sure now, with the finality of the final sentence that her far-fetched fantasies of Quinn being romantically inclined towards her and not some strapping jock with a thousand friends and a loud car were definitely falsities that would be forever confined within the walls of her mind.

Quinn couldn't see past Rachel's smile, and it worried her. She could see nothing in her eyes, except disappointment, and confusion. Quinn knew that Rachel knew what she'd just said to her was a lie, and it hurt her to know she had done it so easily.

Yet, what scared her more than the sudden unexplained angst in pools of chocolate, was that Rachel wasn't berating her for it.

Instead, much to Quinn's heartbreak, Rachel left her, with an empty excuse and quick feet, down the hallway out of her sight.


End file.
